скачать книгу бесплатно
‘Detective Chief Inspector Darke, great name for a detective, pleasure to meet you finally,’ he said with a Cheshire cat smile.
Matilda shook his hand. ‘Likewise,’ she said. ‘You are?’
‘Sorry, Simon Browes, forensic pathologist. I believe I’m replacing Adele Kean on this particular case. She has a personal connection, I’ve been informed.’
‘Well, she—’
Simon held up his hands. ‘You don’t need to tell me, none of my business.’ He clapped his hands together. ‘Shall we begin? I’ll go and scrub up. Will you be joining us, DCI Darke?’
Dressed in ill-fitting green theatre scrubs, apron, gloves, wellington boots, hat and face mask, Matilda stepped carefully through the footbath and into the small and dimly lit post-mortem suite.
There was one fixed table in the centre of the room. On it lay Brian Appleby covered in a white sheet. Four other people stood nearby – Simon Browes, Lucy Dauman, and two others who looked identical in their scrubs. One was a Forensic Imaging Specialist, to photograph the post-mortem at every stage; the other was the Crime Scene Manager, there to collect trace evidence. Under their protective layers, Matilda couldn’t tell who was who.
In the corner, was a brightly lit anteroom known as the SOCO room. This was where the evidence was passed through to a waiting detective constable. In this case, Faith had made the journey from the police station. Her expression showed that she wasn’t happy about being here, but at least there was a wall of glass between her and the gruesome act of an autopsy.
‘What did the results of the digital autopsy show?’ Matilda asked.
‘We haven’t done one,’ Lucy said.
‘Why not?’
‘I was told this was death by hanging,’ Simon said.
‘It is.’
‘Then we don’t need a digital autopsy. The majority of what we need to know is external. As for internal, bruising won’t show up on the scans. It will save time and money for me to perform a straight invasive post-mortem.’
‘What about the organs?’ Matilda asked.
‘What about them?’ he asked, getting slightly irate at the delay.
‘Don’t we need to do a digital autopsy to see their condition?’
‘As far as I have been made aware, there are no gunshot or stab wounds. We’re not looking for the trajectory of a bullet or a snapped-off point of a knife. May I begin?’
‘By all means,’ Matilda said, reluctantly stepping back so as not to get in the way. She doubted if radiologist Claire Alexander would be happy.
Lucy removed the sheet and was presented with a body bag lying on the table. She broke the lock and opened the bag revealing a pale Brian Appleby inside.
Matilda angled her head to one side and studied Brian’s face. She could understand why Adele had been attracted to him. He had thick, dark brown hair, a firm jawline, smooth skin and just the hint of grey in his stubble, giving him a distinguished look. Matilda had to remind herself this man had sexually assaulted three young girls. There could even have been more. He had used his charms to convince Adele he was an upstanding member of the community, just unlucky in love. What did he need to do to win over a fifteen-year-old girl?
‘Did you hear me?’
Matilda looked up to see all eyes on her. ‘Sorry?’
‘DCI Darke, if you’re not comfortable viewing a post-mortem you don’t have to stay,’ Simon admonished.
Matilda stole a glance at Faith in the SOCO room who was hiding a smile. ‘I’m fine. I was … thinking.’
‘Well, have a think about this. Your man here was strangled before he was hanged.’
‘Really?’ she asked. ‘He didn’t die by hanging?’
‘He may well have been unconscious when he was finally strung up but if you look at the rope marks on his neck, they run horizontally.’ Simon beckoned her closer to the body. ‘As you can see, the rope was tied around his neck, but it’s not a firm mark at the back. I think he was subdued in a stranglehold, so the killer would have more control.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Matilda frowned, trying, but failing, to picture the scenario.
Simon let out a heavy sigh. ‘Imagine the killer standing behind you. He has his arm wrapped around your neck squeezing hard to render you unconscious, or on the cusp of passing out. He lets go. You fall to the floor, gasping for breath, and he throws the noose over your head and hangs you up with it. The rope cuts into your throat and goes up the side of your neck around the back of your ears. It’s a very slow and painful death.’
‘Right,’ was all Matilda could say. She changed her mind on what type of person could overpower someone of Brian Appleby’s build. They needn’t be stronger, taller, fitter; the element of surprise was more than enough.
‘Do you know the signs of ante-mortem hanging, DCI Darke?’ he asked.
‘The presence of ecchymosis around the ligature and the dribbling line of dried saliva down the front of his shirt,’ Matilda replied with a slight smile on her face.
‘Very good,’ he said, a slight condescending tone to his voice. ‘Not just a pretty face, DCI Darke,’ he added, for want of something better to say.
Or maybe I called Adele this morning and she told me what to look for.
‘Judging by the crime scene photographs, this is a partial hanging as his toes were found to be touching the floor. Is that correct?’
‘They were just touching the ground, yes.’
‘The weight of the head, arms and chest provide the fatal pressure on the neck. Mr Appleby was a well-built chap. His own muscle was his killer. I’m going to cut through the rope and leave the knot intact. I’m sure your Forensics are capable of tracing the rope and finding skin samples within the fibres.’
‘How long would he have taken to die?’ Matilda asked.
‘I’m surprised you don’t already know the answer to that, DCI Darke,’ he smiled at her through his face mask, his eyes twinkled. ‘It depends on how long he was struggling with his assailant. The usual time period for death by hanging is three to five minutes. He will have lost consciousness fairly quickly. However, when you’re dying, those few minutes can seem like an eternity.’
Dr Browes cut through the rope. ‘As I expected, a simple slip knot. A decent enough rope too, not too thick, not brittle. Your hangman wasn’t an opportunist. He, for argument’s sake let’s call him a he, knew the size of his victim and brought along the adequate tools required.’
‘Thirteen twists too,’ Matilda said, remembering Diana Black’s comment from Thursday morning. ‘A typical hangman’s noose, I believe.’ She was enjoying being smug.
Simon Browes ignored her. ‘I’m going to cut him open and take a look at his organs now. Not squeamish are you, DCI Darke?’
‘Not at all,’ she lied.
‘Ms Dauman?’
‘Of course not,’ another lie.
Chapter Ten (#ulink_d80f527c-3cfe-5bff-a496-ae0038c45dcb)
‘Are you all right now?’ Lucy Dauman asked as she stood over DCI Darke with a glass of water.
Matilda looked around her, wondering how she had got from the autopsy suite to Adele’s office.
‘Yes, I’m fine. It’s been years since I’ve collapsed at a post-mortem.’
‘I haven’t been doing this job long. I always think I’m going to faint. I get warm and feel sick, but I’ve managed to control myself so far.’ She smiled.
It wasn’t the sight of the scalpel cutting into the body, the smell coming from the internal organs or the sounds of ribs being broken: it was Dr Simon Browes’s haphazard manner and lack of respect for the man on his table. He ran the scalpel down Brian Appleby’s chest like he was opening a parcel from Amazon. He tore back the skin and cracked open the ribcage like a starving cannibal. The fact Matilda hadn’t eaten since first thing hadn’t helped either.
‘Have some more water, you still look a little flushed.’ Lucy handed Matilda the glass.
‘Is he always like that?’
‘I’ve no idea. Today’s the first time I’ve met him. He’s good at his job though, you can’t deny that.’
Matilda took another large slug of water and a deep breath. ‘Is the post-mortem complete?’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘I’m guessing Dr Browes is waiting for me to do the post-autopsy briefing.’
‘He is.’
‘I hope he’s changed his clothes,’ she said, slowly getting up from the chair. ‘I don’t think I could stand the sight of any more blood today.’
By the time Matilda saw natural daylight she had been in the Medico-Legal Centre for over six hours. Faith had returned to the station, probably telling everyone how Matilda had fainted during a post-mortem. A DCI collapsing at the sight of blood would be comedy gold among the uniformed officers. They were just getting over the video Rory filmed on his mobile phone last year of Matilda being lifted over floodwater by a hunky fireman.
The post-autopsy briefing was conducted in the windowless family room. The heady smell of different fragrances of air freshener, coupled with Dr Simon Browes delighting in giving Matilda all the details in glorious technicolour, made her want to vomit all over his designer shirt and tight trousers.
In the end, he summed up what Matilda had already surmised: Brian Appleby died by strangulation. The blood and skin samples under his fingernails were evidence he struggled. Unfortunately, the samples belonged to him. He had pulled at the rope as it tightened around his neck and squeezed the life out of him.
As Matilda made her way, delicately, to the car park, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for Brian. Then she remembered who he was, how he had fooled Adele, and his victims. She felt sick. She needed something to eat.
A tentative knock on the glass door caused Matilda to look up from her cluttered desk.
‘Ma’am, can I have a word?’
‘Of course, Ranjeet, come on in.’
DC Ranjeet Deshwal had recently transferred from West Yorkshire Police. He was in his mid-twenties, slim with the shiniest black hair Matilda had ever seen. He wore rimless glasses and a stud in each ear. She wanted to ask him how he managed to get the knot in his tie so big but, when she looked at his neck, all she could picture was the lifeless body of Brian Appleby hanging from his ceiling.
‘DI Christian Brady is observing an interview,’ he began in a thick West Yorkshire accent. ‘He wanted me to tell you that three lads have been arrested in Gleadless for the assault on Alec Routledge. One of them has admitted it and landed his two mates in it too. They don’t know anything about Brian Appleby, though.’
‘I never thought they were linked. Thanks for telling me, Ranjeet.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘How are you settling into South Yorkshire Police?’ she asked as he was heading for the door.
He stopped in the doorway and turned around. Matilda was pretty sure his smile was fake. ‘I’m enjoying it. Great bunch of people.’ He nodded several times before leaving the office.
Matilda tried hard not to smile. A great bunch of people? Was that true? She looked through the window at the officers going about their duties. There was only Scott and Faith she knew by first name. The room was packed yet she didn’t know a single one of them. You’re to blame for that. Invite them out for a drink.
‘I’ll think about it,’ she said quietly to herself, before rolling her eyes.
Sitting in Matilda’s office, Aaron Connolly and Scott Andrews were squeezed into the small space. All three had a cup of coffee balanced somewhere on Matilda’s untidy desk and they’d raided Sian’s snack drawer. She was due back tomorrow, so someone was going to have to run to the supermarket to replenish the stolen items.
‘It turns out Brian Appleby did have kids,’ Scott said, opening a Boost. ‘Alicia is twenty-one. She’s currently on a gap year in France. George is nineteen, and, get this, he’s studying at Sheffield Hallam University.’
‘Why am I only learning this now?’ Matilda asked.
‘I only found out myself this lunchtime. Brian had an address book, but all the names were initials. I’ve been looking them up, and George Appleby lives in a shared student property on Penrhyn Road.’
‘Maybe that’s why Brian moved to Sheffield then. To be closer to his son. I think we’re going to need a word with this George. Scott, go along with Faith and bring him in.’
‘Tonight?’
Matilda looked out of the window and noticed it was dark. A glance at her phone told her it was just past eight o’clock. ‘First thing in the morning then. You can go with Sian, Scott.’
‘Will do.’
‘Who spoke to the wife?’
‘Unfortunately, I did,’ Aaron said. ‘She was very short with me and blamed me for bringing him back into her life. She practically slammed the phone down when I asked where she was on Thursday night.’
‘Did you get an answer?’
‘Sort of. I’ve been on to the local police in Southend. They’re going to send someone round to have a more in-depth chat with her. I don’t think she’s a suspect.’
‘Did Essex Police go to speak to Brian Appleby’s old neighbours?’
‘They did. None of the neighbours have been in contact with Brian since he left for Sheffield. They were glad to see him go. I think they were worried house prices would drop.’
‘OK. What about his neighbours on Linden Avenue?’
‘Faith and Ranjeet are back there with a team of uniforms. They’re trying to catch anyone who was out during the day,’ Aaron said. ‘So far, none of them are aware of Brian’s past. They thought he was the ideal neighbour.’
‘Jesus, it just shows you we have no idea who lives next door, do we?’
‘So where do we go from here?’ Aaron asked.
Matilda leaned back in her chair and blew out her cheeks. She had no idea. ‘Well let’s see if anything comes up once the son and all the neighbours have been questioned. If not, we’ll have to rely on Forensics to pull something out of the hat.’
‘I thought you might like to know,’ Aaron said, ‘the phone lines have been ringing off the hook.’
‘Oh! Witnesses?’
‘No. Since The Star printed that story about paedophiles in Sheffield, we’ve had people calling in and reporting anyone they suspect to be child molesters.’
‘Bloody hell. Aren’t people lovely?’
‘I know. The calls are going to have to be followed up though.’
‘Right,’ Matilda said. ‘I’ll have a word with Christian. We’ll put a team together. This is all we need.’
